


A Walk up the Road

by lurkinglurkerwholurks



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Robin Tim Drake, Tim drake needs a hug, musings, the last three are mentioned but do not appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkinglurkerwholurks/pseuds/lurkinglurkerwholurks
Summary: Tim Drake needs to find his courage for an important task. He remembers his interesting relationship (or lack thereof) with the Wayne family.





	A Walk up the Road

“Hi, I’m—“

“Hello. My name—“

“Good afternoon. I was hoping to—“

“My name is Tim. Tim Drake. Can I please—“

Tim sighed heavily and stepped back. He had to get this right. After all his work, all his planning, he wanted everything to go perfectly. Tim threw back his narrow shoulders and straightened out the line of buttons down his front before eyeing his reflection and trying again.

“Hi.” No, too squeaky.

“Hi.” He sounded like he’d just swallowed a roll of quarters. No.

“Hi.” Too casual?

“Hiya.” WAY too casual.

“Hello there.” What in the…

Tim’s fist clenched, then he grimaced and wiped his palms on his khakis. He wanted to be taken seriously, hence the carefully pressed collared shirt and trim khaki pants. He still hadn’t decided if the matching green bow tie would be too much. But it wouldn’t matter what he wore if he sweat through it before he could walk over.

“Cool down, cool down, cool down,” he muttered as he left the mirror to stand in front of his rotating floor fan.

Tim swayed in front of the rotating blades, following its movement to let the cool air wash over his feverish skin. As he rocked back and forth, Tim once again tried to plan his entrance. He needed an introduction that lent him an air of credibility. He was used to being dismissed as too young, too short, too awkward, and that was by normal people. If he could just get in there and say what he needed to say, the truth would get him where he needed to be. He was pretty sure, anyways. But first he had to be allowed to say it.

With his clammy skin wicked dry for the moment, Tim abandoned his room, seeking comfort. Seeking focus. His parents were knocking about somewhere in the spacious mansion, but he avoided them without any effort at all. Even if their paths had crossed, they wouldn’t have gotten in his way as long as he didn’t get in theirs. So he was unhindered as he took the main stairs up two at a time, then the back stairs, and finally the drop-down ladder until he could crawl up onto the roof.

Tim edged across the narrow landing, careful to walk with silent footsteps. He didn’t think his parents would notice if he made any noise that carried into the house, but it was good to practice. Besides, practice kept his attention off the edge. No matter how many times he climbed up to the roof, no matter how many late-night excursions he made, just looking at the line where the roof disappeared into blurry, faraway green made his stomach flip. But it was worth it for the view.

Crouching on the far corner of the landing, Tim braced his hand against the sloping roof and looked out. Directly in front of him and several stories down was his home’s sprawling, perfectly manicured lawn. Beyond that, the sedate hedges that ringed the Drake property. He supposed they were supposed to scream _Mine! Go away!_ but in a classy, well-bred way. They just made him think of the movie with the raccoon and the turtle. Beyond the hedges was a ditch he couldn’t see but knew existed, and on the other side of the ditch, trees. Tall, elegant, stately trees whose boughs he knew on sight as well as the uprights that supported the bannister of the main staircase in his home. He knew how the trees danced in the wind, how they bowed under the weight of a heavy snowfall, how they bristled with the vibrance of spring. He’d never so much as rested his hand against the bark of one of their trunks, but he knew them, and he hated them.

It was only by leaning, stretching, and contorting himself—and using high-powered binoculars he bought online—that Tim could see past the trees to Wayne Manor. Most of the house remained hidden by the trees, but from his vantage, he could see patches—a bit of lawn here, a strip of driveway there, a section of roof over there. As secluded as the Manor was, the Waynes were still his closest neighbor, with the Akagis always abroad, and Tim had kept tabs on the Manor as best he could while growing up.

All of Gotham thought Bruce Wayne was a goof, a charming playboy with little ambition but deep pockets and a surprisingly tender heart. Tim had thought that as well for the longest time, though he put more stock than most in the tender heart. He didn’t easily forget those who had been kind to him, as Mr. Wayne had once been. Maybe it was stupid to pin affection on a brief encounter, but he still remembered his terror when he’d found himself lost in the crowd at a gala he had been far too young to attend. He’d been surrounded by towering pairs of legs, none of them belonging to his parents, and had devolved into a sniffling mess. Bruce Wayne had found him. Tim remembered the billionaire kneeling down in his black-tie tux to become the first friendly face he’d seen in a room full of lotioned knees and pant legs, and had asked Tim his name. Mr. Wayne had smiled, not mocking, but kind. He had helped Tim find his mother, who hadn’t even realized he was gone.

It was a little thing, a tiny moment that likely didn’t mean anything to anyone else, but Tim remembered.

He also remembered getting to meet a tanned, brightly grinning boy in a leotard a few months later. Rather than being lost, Tim had slipped away deliberately, because he had heard there were monkeys and he wanted to see. The boy had found him. Instead of chasing him off, as Tim expected, he had taken Tim on a tour, jabbering away the entire time. Tim had been thrilled, and had been disappointed to return to his parents.

He remembered watching in unblinking horror as the boy’s parents fell. As the adults around him screamed and panicked, but didn’t move, except to stand or to race toward the exit. Only one had moved to help, a man Tim recognized, though he was now in slacks instead of a tuxedo.

He remembered the headlines that followed—CIRCUS TRAGEDY ORPHAN BECOMES WAYNE WARD. GOTHAM’S SON GAINS SON.

Bruce Wayne seemed to enjoy showing off his new son, so Tim saw them together in the media a lot, mostly in matching suits while at this charity benefit or that fundraising gala. They seemed happy.

It wasn’t that Tim kept close tabs on the pair. He didn’t. But when they appeared, he noticed. They were neighbors, after all. He was being neighborly. And when he discovered the roof and the view it could offer, he was pleased. Sometimes he would get lucky and catch a glimpse of Richard tumbling happily in the Manor’s front lawn, or of Mr. Wayne ruffling his ward’s hair in the driveway before heading off to work.

Tim had wanted… He hadn’t had words for what he wanted.

But Tim wasn’t obsessed or anything. No, his obsession was Gotham’s crime-fighting duo, the Bat-Man and his Robin. At first, it had just been a hobby, a challenge. They were both so clever, so sneaky, so daring. It had been like hiding to watch a rare bird, only these birds had night vision and grappling hooks.

Tim got better. He got closer. And instead of terse but insightful battlefield commands, he heard… laughter. And jokes. Advice and mundane chatter about homework and bedtimes. Tears, sometimes, and softly spoken encouragement. They were far more human than he had expected, and the knowledge only made him ache more. He daydreamed about revealing himself, of stepping out at just the right moment to call out a warning and save the day.

 _Batman, watch out!_

He pictured himself pushing Robin out of the way of a runaway car. Or spotting a trap that no one else could see. Or rushing to a wounded Batman’s side with his first-aid kit and rendering life-saving help. Batman would be grateful. Robin would think he was cool.

If he could find the right moment, the right way to make himself invaluable to Batman and Robin, maybe, just maybe, they’d see his worth.

Time passed. Robin grew up and disappeared. Tim worried, until a new vigilante named Nightwing appeared with a smile he knew well. It was Nightwing who linked Tim’s two interests together, tying the flashy fighting style of the former Robin to that of a former high-flying acrobat. Tim had been floored, but the more he thought about it, the more the pieces snapped into place. Especially once the headlines announced that Bruce Wayne had adopted a second child, a Crime Alley orphan named Jason Todd, and a few months later, Batman was once again joined by a brightly suited Robin.

Tim knew Jason Todd’s backstory. All of Gotham did. An orphan, the son of drug addicts and criminals, he had been plucked out of the gutters of Crime Alley and given a home with one of the richest men in the world. Unlike Richard, whose puppy-dog eyes and tragic past inspired pity in Gotham’s elite, Jason made them nervous. He was too poor, too rough, too old. In response, Bruce Wayne seemed to make an effort to parade him around more than he had Richard. Baseball games, the theater, theme parks, carnivals, and more, the duo was spotted all around Gotham together. Mr. Wayne shielded his son from the spotlight, and yet knew how to take advantage of showing off their more spontaneous moments in a controlled way. 

It made perfect sense and Tim had never been more jealous of anyone in his life.

Not that he saw himself in competition with Jason Todd, oh no. First, that wouldn’t make sense, and Tim was nothing if not sensible. Jason was the son, and Tim was the weird stalker kid down the road that no one in the Manor knew existed. More than that, Tim’s daydreams were changing. He still wanted to be part of the team, to help Batman and Robin in their noble mission, to belong to something bigger than himself. And yet when Tim pictured this fantasy life, his time wasn’t spent designing his own costume or learning tumbling tricks from Nightwing and self-defense maneuvers from Robin.

Tim saw himself going to his first baseball game, sandwiched between Mr. Wayne and Jason Todd, a too-large ball cap playfully pushed down over his eyes. He saw himself hunched over a kitchen table with homework, Mr. Wayne besides him with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he helped Tim through a difficult math problem. He saw Richard Grayson rolling up to school in the coolest convertible imaginable (bright yellow, in Tim’s head, with racing stripes down the side) to pick Tim up after a long day. Jason would tell him about his awful life in Crime Alley, and Tim would be the most supportive listener the world had ever seen. He’d talk about the reasons he and Batman were bickering more on patrol, and Tim would know the perfect thing to say that would fix everything. Jason would let Tim sleep over, and they’d watch too many scary movies and eat way too much junk food right before bed. And he’d have Jason over to his house, and show him the roof, and tell him how long he’d wanted to visit that secluded house up the road. And it would be the _best_ , because finally Tim would have a friend, and out of everyone it could be, his friend would be the coolest Robin ever. (Richard? Richard was cool. He could do flips. But Jason had _style_.)

And to obtain his wildest dreams, all Tim had to do was take a walk up the road.

Tim heaved a long breath as he lowered the binoculars. He didn’t see any movement at the Manor, but that wasn’t uncommon. As best he could tell, the Waynes were fairly consistent about eating dinner at home before they went out to patrol. They should be home. He knew it was rude to interrupt a meal, but he couldn’t let the opportunity pass.

Steeling himself, Tim hurried back down to his room. After a moment’s hesitation, he opted for the bow-tie, but also threw on his new windbreaker for hopefully just the right balance of trying enough but not too hard. He didn’t slow in front of the mirror again, knowing that if he stopped even for a second longer, he would lose both his momentum and his nerve.

Today. Today was the day that he would put years of planning into action. Today was the day that he would change his life. Today was the day that he would meet _Batman_.

As Tim hurried out the front door and across his lawn, he kept repeating his speech. _Hi, Mr. Wayne. I’m Tim Drake, from down the road. You don’t know me, but I know you. And I know your secret._ Maybe it was too direct, but Tim knew he just needed to get in the door. If he could get in the door, he could prove to Mr. Wayne—prove to them all—how useful he could be.

Somehow, Tim had failed to imagine a scenario where the butler answered the door instead of Mr. Wayne himself. Stupid. Of course a billionaire wouldn’t answer his own front door. Tim tugged on the loose hem of his dress shirt, then quickly tucked it back into his pants.

“Hi. Um, hi. I need to speak to Mr. Wayne, please,” Tim said breathlessly.

He watched the butler study him from the top of his neatly combed head to the toes of his freshly shined shoes, pausing for a moment on the neatly knotted bow-tie. He knew it’d been a good idea. Tim didn’t think the fleeting smile that bristled the man’s mustache was his imagination, and a flutter of hope rose in his chest.

“Mister—“

“Tim. Timothy Jackson Drake,” Tim supplied quickly.

The butler inclined his head slightly. “Unfortunately, Mister Drake, Master Bruce is currently unavailable.”

Tim bit his bottom lip, but quickly rallied. Nothing to panic over. He knew this was a possibility. 

“I’m sorry for coming during the dinner hour, but it’s very important. Please, I have to speak to him.”

Did the butler know about his employer’s extracurricular activities? He must. Right? If Tim told the butler that he _knew_ surely, that would get him an audience with Bruce Wayne. But what if the butler didn’t know? Mr. Wayne would never trust him if he blew Batman’s cover like that.

The butler spoke again before Tim could spiral into a total panic. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Master Bruce is out of the country at present.”

Tim felt his lips go numb. “Out of the country?” he repeated weakly. _That_ hadn’t been part of the plan.

The butler’s expression softened slightly. Tim wondered if he looked as crestfallen as he felt. “Yes,” the butler answered. He seemed to take pity on Tim and added, “He and Master Jason are in Africa on relief work. They are due to return next week. Master Bruce is a very busy man, but if your matter is as urgent as you say, you may try again at that time.”

Africa. Tim blinked rapidly, trying to wrestle control over his own emotions by recalling what he had read. “Mister Wayne is… he’s contributed funds to the refugee camp near Addis Ababa. They’re visiting the camp?”

Tim had been pleased when he’d first read the small feature in the _Gotham Gazette_. He liked that Bruce Wayne’s commitment to helping others extended beyond his own backyard, especially considering how much help his backyard needed.

It was the butler’s turn to blink. “Dire Dawa, actually. As I said, he will be unavailable until his return next week.”

That was his cue to go. Tim’s shoulders slumped as he stepped back. “Thanks. I’ll, uh—“

The butler peered at him, blue eyes sharp and curious. “If the matter is as important as you say, perhaps your parents…”

Tim’s own eyes widened in horror. The idea of his parents finding out what he had been up to set his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. Even learning he had dared cross over to Wayne Manor would be a disaster. Tim’s father had what his mother called a “billionaire boner” (yuck) for Mr. Wayne’s unmatched influence in Gotham. If they found out their son had done something as embarrassing as bother Bruce Wayne _at home_ , they would absolutely murder him.

“No!” Tim squeaked, stepping back so quickly that he nearly tumbled down the front steps. “No, it’s fine. I can wait. Sorry to bother you.”

Tim hurried down the steps before he could cause any more trouble, then started the long walk back home. He trudged down the driveway, hands jammed into his pockets, and tried to manage his disappointment.

It really was fine, he told himself. Just a minor delay. He could wait until Mr. Wayne and his son returned from Ethiopia.

It would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently when I get stuck on a fic, my procrastination method is to write a different fic. Go figure. Also, for the love of dogs, would someone please hug Tim Drake. (And before anyone asks, you _cannot_ convince me that Gotham newspapers would refer to the underage ward of a billionaire as _Dick_.)


End file.
